


2 AM

by tobylove (orphan_account)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Crushes, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Heavy Petting, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Smoking, Swearing, Weed, Young Adults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tobylove
Summary: William Tyler Denbrough.The most fascinating person Richie had met all summer. Quite possibly in his entire life.





	2 AM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moxielovesshipping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moxielovesshipping/gifts).



> I’m back ;-)  
> so.... I like bichie now, that’s a thing sgjsksksl
> 
> the full title of this is “Let’s Hang Out at 2 AM Together and Shoot the Shit”, but that’s so long man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That dude was so cute, it must've been a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, this is impromptu; I'm just writing as I go, so I hope you guys enjoy it anyways! this chapter was fun aljfldfjldfjlkj

It was in the transition between spring and summer when he first met him. Richie remembers because those sunflowers on Neibolt Street had bloomed, overgrown, and then drooped down like desk lamps. He remembers because it was the time of the year for curfew; for people to lock their doors and hug their kids and look over their shoulders.

And he remembers because he never followed, nor cared about, that stupid curfew. 

He had done his usual of opening his window, leaving it open (not like it mattered), grabbing his skateboard, and jumping down into his front yard. He sometimes thought fondly of his parents’ house again—his old room, with the  rose bush underneath his window. He would always hit it on the way down sneaking out and would have to pick thorns out for days. That’s why he always had Band Aids on his arms. 

But enough about the damn Band Aids. This isn’t about them, or the rose bush, or those ugly ass sunflowers on Neibolt Street. 

This is about _him._

He took his skateboard and went to the mini-mart that was open 24 hours a day. Maybe for, like, some Doritos and a Red Bull, and to pester Tony, who was the cashier. It was his favorite place to loiter, that mini-mart. Deep down, he knew that Tony appreciated it. He must get lonely. 

He popped his board up with his foot, put it underneath his arm, was about to go into the front doors of the mini-mart. But he couldn’t go in yet—because he saw him. 

He had on plaid, which was... different. Even though it was 2 AM, it was still warm outside with a little breeze. He had brown hair as dark as a bedroom drawer; it brushed his shoulders. He looked at him with pretty blue eyes. Scrunched up his nose. 

He smiled. 

He said: “Oh, hey.”

Richie was _entranced_ by him. 

This guy was able to hook him with two words and looked at him with eyes like clear Derry skies, or the ocean, or any other romantic ass thing. He was waiting for an answer. Richie blinked. He shook his head.

He answered: “Sup.” 

Really, now. _‘Sup?’_

 _That_ was fucking dumb.

But the guy chuckled anyway; leaned his arm more on the brick wall of the mini-mart. “What’s your name?” he asked, and that was easy enough. 

“Richard,” Richie told him. Then, he added (he thought quite coolly), “Just call me Richie, though.”

“Well, _Richie,_ ” the guy said, and added emphasis on his name—and Richie thought he could’ve melted. “What are you doing out here at 2 o’clock in the morning?” 

Richie raised his eyebrows. This guy was his style; he was having fun now. “ _Me?_ Oh y’know, just shooting the shit,” he said. “What are _you_ doing out here at 2 o’clock in the morning?”

The guy grinned. “Oh, you know. Just shooting the shit.” 

Richie laughed. It bubbled up inside him, and suddenly he didn’t feel so bad about whatever he was feeling bad about anymore.

“Hm. Well why don’t we shoot the shit together then, Stranger?” He asked.

The guy was a tease. He could tease back. 

The Stranger smiled again. “Sure. But I don’t have to be a stranger anymore. My name is William.” His smile bordered more into a smirk. “Just call me Bill, though.”

* * *

Bill had come on his bike. It was silver, maybe once upon a time—but now it just looked rusty and oversized. He let Richie put his skateboard in his basket. Tony felt some way about skateboards in his mini-mart. 

“What kinda snacks you like?” Richie asked on a whim. “It’s on me.”

Bill looked at him—and Richie learned then that he had an easy laugh. “Well, shit. I’m not just gonna turn down free snacks,” he said, and grabbed a bag of M&Ms. Some people talked really fast, like they were in a rush. Richie also learned that Bill talked slowly, like he had all the time in the world. 

“You don’t want a drink too?” Richie asked, and raised his eyebrows again.

“Nah, I don’t wanna break you,” Bill said—maybe it was entirely sincere, but he sounded like he was teasing again. 

“C’mon man, it’s free,” he said to this, trying to sound nonchalant—but his ears turned red and something in his chest rattled. 

“I mean for _me_ it is, yeah,” Bill said, and paused, then grabbed a Pepsi. 

They took their bags and plopped them into the basket on Bill’s bike, with Richie’s skateboard. Before they had come back outside, Bill had grabbed him by the arm with a wide grin on his face. His eyes twinkled like an ocean horizon. 

“Bet I can get you home in less than five minutes,” is what he said. 

Richie scoffed. “Dude. From _here?_ Yeah, maybe in a car. Takes me like three in my truck.”  

“No I’m _telling_ you,” Bill kept on, and his eyes still had that childish gleam. “My bike goes _fast_. Let me try. If I can’t do it, then next time I owe you a favor.”

Shit, Richie figured. What’s the harm in it? And his chest rattled with the thought of ‘next time’. Bill was cute, _really cute_ —or whatever. 

“Bet! I’ll time you.” He took out his phone, and seriously enough, went to his timer app and set it for five minutes. 

“Bet,” Bill echoed. The third thing that Richie learned is that Bill was a guy that loves a challenge. He had a handsome devilish grin on his face. He got on the bike, and Richie hopped on the back and looped his arms around Bill’s waist. 

“Hang on, cowboy,” Bill said, and his voice dipped down low—Richie still couldn’t tell if he was flirting or not. But before he could figure it out, Bill yelled at the top of his lungs, in the dead of night: _“Hi-ho Silver, away!”_

Richie started the timer—and the both of them almost fell over. He was also almost completely sure that Bill was flirting with him and he just made this janky ass bet in order to keep it up. 

He saw that Bill was struggling; he could feel the pain in his face. He straightened them up, and his nose was in the air, his hair dipped below his shoulder blades, his knuckles were turning white from gripping his bike handles. It took them almost fifteen seconds to start moving... but when they did—like Bill said, they were _really_ fast. It sounded like they were shuffling cards. 

They zipped past this street and that street, everything bleeding past them in shapes and colors. Every time they would turn when Richie have him directions, Bill turned so swiftly that they were almost sideways. 

They came up to a yellow light, nearing red, and Bill leaned forward, in the zone now; Richie held on tighter to him, _desperately_ tighter, and buried his head in his back. He wasn't gonna admit it, but he was kinda scared--but pumped up with adrenaline all the same. Bill’s hair whipped behind him, tickling his eyelashes, and he could smell wafts of Bill's shampoo. They didn’t make the light—but Bill couldn’t stop the bike, so they just ran right through it. A car hit their brakes hard, almost making them Flat Stanleys, and honked at them. 

 _“Dude, what the hell!”_ Richie yelled. _“You’re gonna fucking kill us!”_ And for some reason, he was laughing. He couldn’t help it. He had to find chucks in this situation somewhere. And it was kinda fun. 

 _“Gotta race to beat the devil!”_ Bill yelled behind him—and he was laughing, too. 

 

They finally made it to Richie’s house—but they had to start braking at least a block away from his house. (So they, y’know, wouldn’t fucking die.) They hopped off the bike, and Richie stopped the timer. He had almost forgotten about it. 

“2:17,” Richie said, and huffed and puffed. He was actually impressed. “Holy shit dude, that’s fucking s _ick!_ ” 

“Thanks,” Bill beamed. “I try, I try.”

After grabbing his bag and his skateboard out the basket, Richie was on his way to hike himself back up the window, but Bill stopped him again.

“Wait, wait,” he said, dug into his pocket, and pulled out some money. He put it in Richie’s hands and closed his fingers around it. 

Richie even counted it. It was a five and two singles. “Your stuff didn’t anywhere _near_ cost 7 bucks, he pointed out. “Plus, what part of ‘on the house’ did ya not understand? The _‘on’_ , the _‘the’,_ or the _‘house’_?”

“The _‘house’,_ I think,” Bill said, and snickered. Then waved his hand. “But seriously, keep it.” 

“Well yeah, don't mind if I do,” Richie grinned, pocketing the cash. Then he froze, and his smile fell just a bit. “See ya around.”

Bill tried to keep a straight face—but the corners of his mouth raised, if only slightly. He winked. “See you around.”

 

So then, Richie hiked himself back up the window, being careful of the rose bush, went through the window, closed it, and looked back out of it to watch Bill leave. After a wave and another struggle to get the bike to not go at a snail’s pace... he was gone.

He sat on the edge of his bed and laid backwards. “That shit felt like a fever dream,” he said out loud—then laughed again. It wasn’t everyday that he got to meet cool dudes and their fast cool bikes and got to buy them snacks. Cool dudes. Cute dudes. Cool cute dudes.

The last thing that Richie learned the first time they met was that he liked he Bill. _A lot._ Maybe he even had a little crush on him or something. 

But he had no way to contact him. They didn’t exchange numbers or anything.

_Shit._

His chest hurt in a profoundly strong way for somebody that he just met that morning... but he guessed it would pass. It would have to. He would probably never see the guy again; just a stranger passing in the wind, a sweet crush on a memory. So that meant that he would be able to do some mushy shit—like carve B + R on a tree and not feel weird about it. 

But Derry, Maine was small—so maybe he shouldn’t, and he would _definitely_ feel weird about it. But that didn’t stop him from actually seriously considering it. 

Besides, that was only the _first_ time they saw each other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie: ..... maybe I'll do it. There's a nice tree outside


End file.
